Photo taken in Edinburgh, Scotland
Mind Palace
What is it about the mystery genre that keeps us on our toes? What is it about a plot centered on solving a problem that pulls us in?
Is it the structure itself—how it resembles a game, inviting us to play along? Is it the setup, the clues, the hints, and the thrill of the chase?
Or is it simply the big question mark staring us in the face? Maybe it’s all of these things—elements of mysterious stories we’ve all come to know and love.
From Blues Clues to Scooby Doo to Nancy Drew and more, I think back to my youth when I could sit comfortably in my curiosity. I immersed myself in the story, taking in each scene without skipping a beat.
I experienced the ride fully, all in the pursuit of one thing: what happens next? I can’t say I’ve retained this ability perfectly.
It requires practice. But I’m grateful that, now and then, I can get lost in wonder when I stumble on a good story.
Watching Knives Out was one example—its wild turns and unexpected twists left me floored. I appreciate moments like this because they’re rare for me.
Sometimes I fail to embrace the mystery and do the opposite. Instead of taking something in, I play the role of detective, analyzing patterns to reach a conclusion.
It’s almost as if I’m inspired by Sherlock Holmes when he gets deep inside his mind palace, as words and images cluster around him in his deductive reasoning. But whether I solve the puzzle or not, I eventually realize the moment has passed.
While I may have found the solution, I lost the experience. Then I wonder if, in my ignorance, I missed the point of mystery after all.
Reptilian Brain
Naturally, I’m not entirely to blame. We know how the human mind works in the face of uncertainty.
Amid confusion and chaos, something in our wiring urges us to seek comfort and order. The reptilian brain comes out.
While we’re no longer in the jungle fighting to survive, our defense mechanism still activates in response to an outdated instinct: knowledge means safety; ignorance means danger. Despite the centuries that have passed, our bodies remember.
There are levels to how we relive this tendency. Different contexts bring out traces of our evolutionary ways to varying degrees.
It explains why we resist moments when we lack information. It makes sense why any gap in our knowledge leads us to act impulsively to prove otherwise.
Our minds operate steps ahead so we can prepare for what’s to come. While seemingly practical, this hypervigilance can work against us.
When we’re always trying to control our experiences, we can draw false conclusions in a desperate desire to fill the gap. Our brains are great at making assumptions and generalizations in our resistance to the moment itself.
In my experience, this only adds to the stress we already feel. One saying I learned years ago taught me the opposite—participate, don’t anticipate.
Though it’s not always easy, this phrase has stayed with me. In Cosmos, Carl Sagan writes:
“We are each of us, largely responsible for what gets put into our brains, for what, as adults, we wind up caring for and knowing about. No longer at the mercy of the reptilian brain, we can change ourselves.”
Wisdom We Carry
One of the biggest problems with refusing to live with uncertainty is that we stop ourselves from exploring new insights. When we try to fill in the blanks about what’s to come, we can deny ourselves the chance to learn.
We cut off the present moment, seeing the world through the narrowed lens of expectation. It’s like placing a filter over every experience until our judgments leak into all our encounters.
As a result, everything can start to feel dull and unoriginal. A movie that one person finds inspiring might seem redundant to another.
Everyone is entitled to their opinion. But it’s worth asking who has the better experience—the one who surrenders to the moment or the one caught up in their thoughts?
While we can find similarities in many art forms, does that mean the one in front of us has nothing of value?
Do we learn nothing from reexamining ideas we’ve considered before? Perhaps our approach to uncertainty determines the quality of our experiences.
Those with the patience to explore something new yet familiar might learn something, while those without could miss out. Our brains’ plasticity allows us to keep collecting information as we age, expanding our perspectives in ways we may not expect.
No matter our age—twelve, eighteen, twenty-two, or thirty—our understanding of any topic is never the same. As we evolve, so does the wisdom we carry.
In Dune, Frank Herbert writes:
“She said the mystery of life isn’t a problem to solve, but a reality to experience. So I quoted the First law of Mentat at her: a process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join and flow with it.”
Keeping the Magic Alive
Mystery gives us positive things in life. As uncomfortable as it can feel, it allows meaningful aspects to exist.
When we embrace uncertainty, we also embrace vulnerability, appreciation, and gratitude—values that help us move beyond the fears that hold us back. Choosing to accept what reality has in store helps us practice courage.
It takes courage to remain open to what we don’t yet understand. It makes sense that many of us get lost in judgment or attachment to create a false sense of control.
But the truth is, we never know what’s going to happen. Talking and squirming along the way doesn’t change the outcome—only what we take from the experience.
Even if we knew what would happen in a movie or the story of our lives, how would that be better? What would happen to excitement, curiosity, and adventure?
How would we know what we’re capable of without the tension that challenges us to evolve and look inward? When we eliminate the mystery, we eliminate the magic of life itself.
Uncertainty is the question mark that pushes us to find the answer. Without it, we miss the experience of gratitude—a practice that lets us pause and take in our progress as we do our best while facing the unknown.
In When Things Fall Apart, Pema Chödrön writes:
“As human beings, not only do we seek resolution, but we also feel that we deserve resolution. However, not only do we not deserve resolution, we suffer from resolution. We don’t deserve resolution; we deserve something much better than that. We deserve our birthright, which is the middle way, an open state of mind that can relax with paradox and ambiguity.”
Gift of Uncertainty
This reminds me of a time I walked out of a movie theater awestruck. I was in tears over the message of the story, my eyes puffy from releasing all that emotion.
What bewildered me was hearing someone immediately trash it, complaining how similar the plot was to its prequel. Opinions vary, especially in taste.
But I wondered if the analytical mind had taken over, muttering so much it couldn’t hear over its own dialogue. I agreed the plots had parallels, yet I still connected with the way the movie unfolded.
I can’t deny that I often do the same—taking apart every component until I lose sight of the larger picture. Even when I like something, I tend to peek behind the curtain, curious about the creative process and the people who brought it to life.
I develop an obsession, intent on finding out everything about how it came to be. It takes effort for me to step back and consider that maybe I shrink my joy by trying to deduce it all.
Maybe some things don’t need explanation.
Can I let myself sit humbly in my ignorance? Can I enjoy the mystery and accept the truth that, in those moments, I know nothing?
For I can say that in the moments I do succeed, what I know for sure is that I allowed myself to be moved by something. I allowed myself the pleasure of not letting a moment pass me by, but rather, allowing it to stir me completely; inviting a dose of uncertainty that doesn’t always bring about fearful eyes but a smile, following the gift of wild surprise.
